"Caught a ghost, did you?" said Sanderson. "Where is it?"

And Evans, who admires Clayton immensely and has been four weeks
in America, shouted, "CAUGHT a ghost, did you, Clayton? I'm glad
of it! Tell us all about it right now."

Clayton said he would in a minute, and asked him to shut the door.

He looked apologetically at me. "There's no eavesdropping of course,
but we don't want to upset our very excellent service with any rumours
of ghosts in the place. There's too much shadow and oak panelling
to trifle with that. And this, you know, wasn't a regular ghost.
I don't think it will come again--ever."

"You mean to say you didn't keep it?" said Sanderson.

"I hadn't the heart to," said Clayton.

And Sanderson said he was surprised.

We laughed, and Clayton looked aggrieved. "I know," he said, with
the flicker of a smile, "but the fact is it really WAS a ghost,
and I'm as sure of it as I am that I am talking to you now. I'm not
joking. I mean what I say."

Sanderson drew deeply at his pipe, with one reddish eye on Clayton,
and then emitted a thin jet of smoke more eloquent than many words.

Clayton ignored the comment. "It is the strangest thing that has